Thursday, August 8, 2013

"I'm not fucking kidding around, Michael. Our sales are down the drain. Your Instant Coffee idea was just horrible."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"How about, if an idea can have the quote, 'it seemed like a good idea at the time' attached to it, it gets kicked out, okay?"

"Of course sir."

"Now we've got a problem. We need cash, fast. I highly doubt I can merchant you off as a prostitute, so we need to find a different method."

"I have an idea, sir."

"What is it? Dress up Roger in a mini-skirt and put him on the streets?"

"Actually, sir, I was thinking a theft."

"Do I look like a cat burglar, Michael?"

"No sir, but there's a museum around here, with several valuable paintings and jewels."

"Don't fucking tell me..."

"Thornsbury, sir."

"Fuck it, we're all in debt if we don't do it. Go ahead, get the thinnest guy we have to get ready."

-----

The Museum of the Arts and Really Shiny Things was a great tourism spot for the town of Thornsbury, as watching the five police-men per cubic meter of space got boring after a while, though it was a topic of much debate on how exactly they got that many police-men in that space in the first place.

So when the Museum of the Arts and Really Shiny Things opened, the locals flocked to it like ducks to bread-infused water. Soon, tourists started hearing about the great quality of the Museum of the Arts and Really Shiny Things, and joined the locals.

This provided a lot of traffic to the town, which really was great for the entire place. Even the Hot Dog Stands would brag, "Check it, these hot-dogs were Museum of the Arts and Really Shiny Things approved!"

But because of the extremely valuable nature of the exhibits, police often would set their beats around the place, to discourage would-be thieves.

That night, Police Constable Richard Caswell was taking a walk around the property. The place was just starting to close up, and all the visitors flooded out in herds, talking about just how Shiny those Things were.

Richard made a point to talk to a few of the visitors, learning about what had gone on that day, how the art looked, etcetera. Since he couldn't afford entrance, he had to make do with the ravings.

He didn't this night though. He was actually in quite a rush. Reason being Richard forgot that it was Manchester vs. Liverpool, so he was trying to get home to watch the match.

This caused him to miss the one visitor coolly watching his fellows, waiting for them all to leave and for the building to shut for the night.

-----

Luke leaned against the brick walls of the Museum of Art and Really Shiny Things, keeping his head tucked down, waiting for the last of the visitors of the day to leave. He had cased the entire building before making his attempt, so he knew where the most valuable paintings and Things were. Each item also seemed to have a price-tag attached to it, and the numbers were just to large for Luke to count. All he knew was that they were definitely larger than eight, for sure.

Once the last few visitors left the vicinity, Luke started making his way around to the back of the building, keeping underneath the cameras littered on the walls of the Museum of Art and Really Shiny Things.

Once there, he pulled open the fire escape door, and slid inside. While casing, he had made sure to put caps over the cameras that would give him trouble on the way to his first target exhibit.

The fire escape he had kept open with a brick. Seriously, why do they even label those things?

Luke made his way through the corridors, and up one set of stairs to the first exhibit.

As he entered, he checked around for any guards that would patrol through the building. Seeing none, he walked up to one of the podiums holding a Really Shiny Thing. he checked the tag to make sure it was the right one.

SHINY THING

Value: $900,000

Shiny-ness: 10

Luke grabbed it, and put it inside his pocket, replacing it with a small mirror-ball, and started to make his way outside again.

"Oi, you!"

Luke froze, then slowly turned around, finding a rather portly security guard standing there, hands on the flaps of skin covering his hips.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I...I'm the Shiny Checker. If an object isn't shiny enough, I take it away for...re-shining."

The security guard considered this for the length of time it would take for him to consume the supply of a donut shop.

"Alright then," the guard said after a few seconds, "carry on."

Sighing with relief, Luke managed to make his way back out again, ready to report his success to the boss.

-----

"A fucking mirror-ball?"

"It did work, sir-"

"A Shiny Checker?"

"At least he didn't get caught."

"Fair enough. How much did we get for it?"

"About a million, sir."

"Not bad. But you can do better. Send him back tomorrow."

"So soon?"

"Do you doubt me?"

"I'll schedule it right away, sir."

-----

Richard had just found out a few things that had definitely made him very annoyed. The first was that the Museum of Art and Really Shiny Things had been robbed on his beat and he hadn't stopped it.

The second was that Liverpool had lost, and he was even more annoyed at that. So, when he came in to the Museum, he was understandably angry.

"How on earth did you not notice that he had replaced the damn thing with a mirror-ball?"

The security guard shuffled a bit. "Dunno, officer.. It was Shiny, and we aren't meant to touch the exhibits, so..."

"Then why on earth did you think that then it would be okay for this Shiny Checker to take it?"

"Dunno, officer. Never occurred to me."

"Bloody hell." Richard looked at the mirror-ball in his hands, staring at the broken up face looking back at him within it.

"We're going to have to put up our own cameras. Obviously we can't trust yours."

Richard put the ball back on the podium as forcefully as he could, and made his way back to the station to grab some equipment.

-----

"Your tie is loose."

"Thank you, Superintendent."

"So what happened?"

"Liverpool lost to Manchester."

"Apart from the big news?"

"Well, the Museum of Art and Really Shiny Things got robbed. Took one of the smaller exhibits."

"Who do you think did it?"

"No idea, Superintendent. I'm grabbing some of the wireless cams though, to watch some of the exhibits."

"Alright. See what you can find. What do you have planned?"

"We'll see who it is, first."

-----

Luke had cased the area again, and found out the plans to add a few cameras to the entire place. Nothing he could do about that, except avoid the main areas. Thankfully he had a lot of mirror-balls.

He entered the building from the back again, and went to the far side of the Museum of Art and Really Shiny Things, and went to work.

This isn't exactly a two word wonder. It's actually /r/writingprompts August Competition.

I call it The Death Letter.

-----

To Michael Trimmer, 604 Cutter's Way, 85299, Gilbert, ArizonaDear Michael,This letter is to inform you a few facts about your late father, Quentin Trimmer. This letter was written pre-emptively before your father's death. This letter tells you the truth.Son, there are several things that you need to know about your father. First of all, I'm not a spy, I probably died however people said I died, so don't worry that I was actually assassinated by the Mafia or any other such nonsense.Actually, what this letter concerns is my will. You see, there is a few elements left out in the copy that you have probably read.In the old copy, as far as I can remember, it said something along the lines of which my assets were spread equally amongst my close relatives, such as your mother, brothers, and sister. Other items of emotional and sentimental value were distributed as seen fit.There are some issues with this, and you may probably agree with me.1. My actual estate is far greater than what is listed in the will that you recieved.2. Your siblings and mother are good for nothing. I was aware for a long time that your siblings were straying to a worse side of life, probably taking after their mother. I'm aware that this caused you grief while I was alive, as I continued to let them live in my household and providing them with food and shelter, both of which they were ungrateful for.I know you disliked me for keeping them under my roof, and for good reasons. But, I have a reason for it all. I just wanted to make sure, till the very last moment, that they could change. Because you are reading this, apparently,that did not happen. I, Quentin Trimmer, in a clear state of mind and of my own will, declare this to by my Last Will and Testament, and revoke all other wills and codicils previously made by me.I declare my lawyer, Joshua Sanders, to be my personal representative to administer this will, and ask that he be permitted to serve without Court supervision and without posting bond.I give the entirety of my estate, including:

My stocks and shares in Google, IBM, Coca Cola, Microsoft, and Apple, netting at the moment of writing over twenty (20) million dollars

My property at 604 Cutter's Way, Gilbert, Arizona

My property at 64 Linden Ave, Swansea, Wales

My business and engineering shop in Chicago, Illinois

To my son, Michael Trimmer.

None of my estate will be given to anyone else under any other circumstance.

The full copy of my Last Will and Testament is in the possession of my lawyer, Joshua Sanders, to be enacted upon the delivery of this letter.

Michael, go to Joshua, and ask him about the true will. When you do, then he may act and you'll collect my estate. I ask that you try to keep this secret for as long as possible, because it is entirely likely that your family members will try and sue for possession, thankfully made impossible by Joshua.

These two words were the words of the day on some dictionary sites. Check them out if you don't know them.

And now, on to the story!

-----

Charlie McRoy had just bought a new kettle for himself. This one could only hold about a litre, but since he lived by himself, that was all good with him. It could boil water pretty quickly, so he could just relax in the kitchen and drink tea all day. It was rather nice.

And so he could sit there all day, taking sips and reading whatever he chose to. Retirement really was grand.

Charlie went to stand, but stopped when he saw a vaguely familiar man standing in front of him.

"Excuse me, what are you doing here?"

The man only responded by pulling a gun from his pocket and firing it into Charlie's chest.

The last thing Charlie thought that day was, "Damn, I wish I could have another tea right now."

-----

The man stared down at Charlie's form before flickering out of existence. The only evidence left was the bullets in Charlie's body, and the shattered glass of the window.

-----

Richard Caswell was having a pretty nice day. Thanks to the raise, he could afford a new pair of shoes, which he took the liberty of wearing every day, just like the pair he had bought before. Richard only ever owned two pairs of shoes at once, boots and slippers. The latter he only wore on very special occasions, like weekends.

His mood was only slightly ruined by the former body of Charlie McRoy.

"What information do we have on him, Mary?"

"Apparently McRoy here was a shareholder in a rather large company. After his retirement, he'd been living off of pension and dividends from the company."

"Smooth life. What about relatives?"

"Mostly good on that. Had two kids, a daughter who's now a lawyer, and a son who's gotten in trouble with the force before. Great mind, just put to the wrong uses."

"Do we know anything else?"

"His will mentions splitting what he had between his daughter and son."

"So, how did he die?"

"We assume that he was sitting in his chair, and someone shot him. Since we found boot prints inside, we believe someone came up on his right, and shot him."

Richard nodded, then took a look at the body. Then the shattered glass.

"I don't think so, Mary."

-----

Ellen McRoy had just discovered that her father had been killed. Several bullets to the head. She had discovered this in the middle of a case too, so she managed to get a different lawyer for her client so she could spend the rest of the week by herself sitting on her couch watching chick-flicks and eating ice-cream.

Of course, after that, she'd call her pathetic brother who was probably lying in an alleyway, taking drugs and wasting his life away.

As she parked in front of her home, ready for the crying that was probably about to ensue, she noticed a few things.

1. The window was open.

2. The door was as well.

While the neighbourhood was probably one of the better ones in the area, there was still the occasional robbery, so Ellen prepared herself to feel the loss of some physical possessions along with emotional.

But when she entered, everything was in the same place. Apart from the man sitting in her chair that she knew all too well.

"Tupac? Holy shit, why is there a dead man in my house?"

"Let's just say some changes need to be made."

That was the last thing that Ellen heard before the bullet went through her head.

-----

"Somebody really doesn't like the McRoy family."

Richard took a look around the house. Small, one person place, study, bedroom with en-suite bathroom, etc.

Also a dead body in the living room. Christ, was hard to go around without finding one these days.

Richard was there with his partner, Mary. They had taken to look around, and despite the footprints and lack of money, the home didn't seem to be that disturbed.

"Alright, so it's clear that they managed to get into the house, waiting in this seat here, ready to take the shot. That bullet went through her head, exiting and breaking the window."

"Sounds good, apart from one thing."

"What?"

"The glass is on the inside."

-----

Matthew McCoy had just managed to come upon quite a bit of money. His father had given in the will about half of his assets into the possession of Matthew, while the other half went to his stuck up sister. He didn't like that.

He also didn't like the fact that his sister was a stuck up snob who refused to lend him some money. He was dirt-poor, had nothing, and those assets wouldn't get him food, or other, more important things.

Thankfully, Matt was smart, so Matt could do a few things that normal people couldn't. This involved making sure that all of the will fell into his possession, one way or another.

"No officer, I have no idea what happened to my father, or sister. It's a shock to me, and I'm very sad about it."

"Really? Do you know the specifics of your father's will?"

"I know that it was meant to be split between me and my sister, sir."

"Actually, we've looked over, and we found that the late Mr. McRoy's wife is also eligible for her share of his possessions. He never specified specific items to each person, just a third of his wealth each."

"Really? Mom had a share?"

"It appears so. Maybe you two can get together and talk, since you are the surviving members of the family."

"Thank you officers for telling me."

"No problem, Matt." Richard stood up, making his way out of the small apartment Matt resided in. "My condolences about your loss."

-----

Adeline Willow had just found out that her old, good for nothing ex-husband hadn't left her a dime. For his reason, Adeline found herself rather angry. She had done a hell of a lot for Charlie when he was alive, and even if they had parted on less-than-great terms, so what? She had still been a part of his life.

And so, Adeline uncorked another bottle of wine and got to finishing it, when she saw a foot from the corner of her eye.

"Oh, bloody hell, what do you want-"

Adeline stopped as soon as she saw who it was.

"God, you're that rapper, aren't you? The one my son always went on about. Bloody bastard, obsessed with you, now probably rolling in money..." Adeline took another swig from the bottle.

Tupac raised a gun, pointing it straight at her head. At this, Adeline stood up, and made a right hook towards Tupac's head. And passing right through it.

"Sorry, Ms. Willow? Would you please hit the ground?" Richard stepped out from behind the wall, walking past Adeline to a small mirror placed against her fireplace. Picking it up, he crushed it, causing Tupac to disappear.

"Bloody hell, a cop. What do you want? Here to take the rest of my possessions as well?"

"No, Ms. Willow. Just here to clean up."

-----

"So give me the run down, Caswell."

"Well, we figured out early enough on that someone was actually making the shot from outside the house, and scattering around some evidence to make it look like an inside job. Unfortunately, he didn't do a good enough job."

"And you're saying that this Matthew McRoy was the one killing his own family?"

"Yep. Guess he wanted everything from the will."

"You also lied to him about Adeline recieving a share."

"I did. I thought it was necessary, since we could get some video evidence of him trying to kill Ms. Willow."

"Good job, Caswell. You can go back to your chair now."

-----

Well, looks like that's finished! If you enjoy these stories, leave a comment, or check out my twitter account (Two_Word_Wonder) for more info on my up and coming stories!

Right, so this is how it works. I take two words, by email or comments, and make a story about them. The words for this story are: Tea Sack.

Sit back and enjoy, The Tetley Tea Cartel.

------

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Michael?"

"Well, sir, I'm sorry, but the police-"

"I don't give a fuck about the police. They can all go to hell. What I do give a fuck about, Michael, is the fact that these asses are managing to fuck up every single deal!"

"Sir, the problem is it's hard to get drugs in-"

"And that is exactly why I can keep my prices high, Michael. Do you think I want to keep losing stock? Already, half our supply, gone. We've got no crystal left, cocaine is halfway gone, and the supplies of heroin are dropping like flies, too. Soon I'll have nothing."

"Well, sir, if I make a suggestion-"

"And what the fuck would that be, hmm? Maybe just give the supply straight to the cops? Since we all fucking know that's where it's headed!"

"Something slightly different, sir. I think we can smuggle it in."

"And how's that? We fucking swallow it and regurgitate it like penguins for the fucking junkies?"

"No, sir. I was thinking, maybe, tea bags."

"What the fuck do you mean by tea bags?"

"Well, what if we just delivered in tea bags? We could buy some of those big boxes of the things, and replace the tea with whatever. Cocaine, weed, crystal. It could work."

"Oh, and the cops will just wave it on through?"

"Yes, sir. Tea is rather popular, so it gets delivered all the time. No one checks it."

"Okay, fine. We do a test run. If it goes to hell, so do you. How's that?"

"Great, sir. I'll go make the necessary purchases."

-----

Police Constable Richard Caswell was having a fine day. Last night, the force had managed to shut down another deal, confiscating two pounds of high quality cocaine and crystal meth. This meant a few things.

1. The cartel in charge of the operation was sending less in.

2. Richard Caswell was going to get a raise.

Because it had been mostly Richard who had managed to get the information on the deals. By buying a few drinks here, giving some junkies a fiver there, he could figure out where the cartel would try to deliver their drugs next.

And due to Richard's exemplary effort, maybe he'd get an extra grand added to his salary.

All in all, it looked like a good day to Richard.

"Excuse me, officer?" Richard looked up to the truck that had pulled up next to him. It seemed to be a Tesco's delivery van, which was strange since there was only an ASDA around this area.

"Alright, ta." The driver leaned back in, and pulled off, ascending the hill.

Richard continued on his beat. It really did seem to be making up for a wonderful week.

-----

Roger was having a very bad day. First of all, the boss had given him a job-in the middle of a game of Monopoly no less!-and sent him to fucking Police-Ville, a lovely place where the police wouldn't accept bribes, just confessions. And now he was driving right through it, in the open.

Michael had told him that all he had to do was pretend to be a delivery guy, getting some tea bags up the road to lovely old Mrs. McGregor. Except the tea bags was about 15 pounds of cocaine and lovely old Mrs. McGregor could hit your head off with a baseball bat.

Worst of all, when he got back, Jim would have cheated and taken some of his Monopoly money.

It was with a sigh of relief when he managed to get to the address. He helped the few thugs there unload the boxes, then took a deep breath. The cops were everywhere, yet not a single one seemed to notice. Which was rather strange because (apart from the fact that he would be the go-to caricature for drug-dealer) there wasn't a single Tesco in the area.

-----

"So how do it go?"

"How did what go?"

"Oh, the wedding of course-the fucking drugs, you ass. Did they get there?"

"Definitely, sir, I got an affirmative from them a few hours ago. They're distributing right now."

"How did you manage to get it there?"

"Well, we managed to nick a Tesco delivery truck, so no one noticed a thing."

"Are you actually mentally retarded?"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Who the fuck gets a Tesco delivery in an area where there is a fucking ASDA? Are you insane? This could've gone perfectly to plan, but the fucking cops are going to find out now."

"Sir, it's just a Tesco truck-"

"And I'm 'just' a mob boss. Next time, ASDA, or you'll join Jeremy as the headpiece of my car."

"Yes sir."

-----

Richard made his way through the battlefield of the office over to the Superintendent's office. He was about 76% sure that it would be about his raise. The other 24% was devoted to the usual 'He's going to fucking kill me' that went through everyone's head except the Superintendent's.

As Richard pulled up to the door, he did the customary check of uniform, making sure his hat and epaulettes were in place, and entered.

"Sit down." Richard gratefully sank down into the precisely uncomfortable armchair in front of the Superintendent, who looked up at him precisely over the rims of his glasses.

The Superintendent was definitely from the last generation, and from time to time often would barge into pubs before realising that the drinking laws had changed a bit. Still, he cut an imposing figure, so he managed to get away with the barging-in at most times.

"Do you know why I called you here, Caswell?"

"Not really sure, Superintendent."

"It's about the drug problem here."

"What problem, Superintendent? I've managed to clear out a lot of the deals going on about the city, and I'm pretty sure that some junkies have just given up on ever getting drugs again here."

"Then please explain these pictures we got from the CCTV outside ASDA last night."

Richard leaned over to look at the picture. A usual drug deal seemed to be going down, very suspicious people trying not to be suspicious, therefore making themselves more suspicious.

"Correct, Caswell. And I have more, similar pictures from all over the city. Somehow, they've managed to get drugs into town."

"But how, sir? We've covered most obvious entrances, haven't we?"

"Not the most obvious, I'm afraid. I think they managed to sneak it right under our noses."

-----

"Sir, the deals were a success."

"Oh, fucking really? How much did we pull?"

"Approximately £50,000, sir. We still have some more to sell."

"Wonderful! Did anything go wrong?"

"Roger complained that the job made him lose a game of Monopoly, sir. He's rather upset."

"Tell him to take that problem up with me."

"Of course."

"Continue what you're doing, it seems to be working. Come if you find any more problems."

-----

The eternal rain of Britain had managed to come back with a vengeance that night. Richard managed to ignore most of it as he pushed on through the rain, dressed in a different uniform than he usually wore. He knew that more deals would go on tonight, so his only option was to get close enough to see how they managed to get it in, what packaging it was in, etc.

He walked up to the Very Un-Suspicious Gathering, leaning against the car in a Very Un-Suspicious Way. The trick was, Richard had learned over the years, that the reason cops never managed to get on the inside very easily was not because they didn't pretend well enough, it was because they pretended too well.

Richard's technique was flawless, though, so no one noticed him apart from the usual staring directly at him.

He felt another guy creep up on his right in a Very Un-Suspicious Way, and responded by pulling out £500 for this purpose. He felt the man take the money, and replace it with a more familiar shape.

Pocketing it quickly, he walked away and started making his way back to the station. He'd think that the others would be interested to know how they managed to get in.

-----

"You're saying that they're smuggling it in tea?"

"Yes, Superintendent. Here's what I managed to get." Richard passed the tea-bag over to the Superintendent, who studied it very carefully.

"This seems to be marijuana. We have reports of other drugs as well. Do you think that all are delivered like this?"

"I'm pretty sure, sir. I actually think I know how I can take care of this."

"How's that?"

"Simple. There's a truck that passes through town every so often, delivering up the hill to 89 Trappers Road."

"So? ASDA does a lot of deliveries, even from out of the area."

"That's the thing. They messed up."

-----

"You have got to be fucking kidding me, Michael."

"It was a mistake, sir, I can fix it right now-"

"A fucking Aldi's truck? ASDA and Aldi's are not the one and fucking same, Michael!"

"I know sir, but the driver had a problem getting the right trailer."

"Then next time, Michael, remember to make sure the driver isn't fucking wasted before you send him out to get a fucking Aldi's truck!"

"Right away, sir."

-----

Roger was having a much more pleasant day. He had managed to get the truck from the parking lot, load it with the supplies, and get it inside the Police Mecca without the bastards noticing. He was even expecting a raise.

"Excuse me, sir?"

Roger turned out the window with a pleasant smile on his face, only to have it drop just a little bit.

"The name's Richard Caswell, Police Constable. Would you mind exiting the vehicle?"

-----

"Doing better, Richard."

"Thank you sir, I made sure the hat was on centre."

"So we've managed to get the info out of the driver. Seems that they've been rolling in a hell of a lot of product into 89 Trappers Road. Most of the force is up there now, sweeping up."

"I heard, Superintendent." Richard smiled slightly, "I think we've managed to close them down on this route, sir."

"Very much so. How does an extra 2 grand a year sound to you?"

-----

"You absolute shithead, Michael. You fucked up what could have been amazing."